


How to Be a Matchmaker

by dindi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Attempt at Humor, Exhibitionism, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Feelings Realization, M/M, Miya Atsumu is Worst Best Man, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Weddings, atsumu has a really big heart and very small brain and also maybe a small pp, kinda angsty but not rly idk, unhinged!Atsumu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:27:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29436057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dindi/pseuds/dindi
Summary: Or: 8 Rules to Follow for Setting up Your Single Friends(And maybe one way of falling for someone in the process.)
Relationships: Kita Shinsuke/Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Atsumu/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 8
Kudos: 73
Collections: Valentine's Day 2021: The Cupid Shuffle Crossover





	How to Be a Matchmaker

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to the cupid shuffle crossover! brought to you by the whore inc. writers: [glacier](https://twitter.com/kaashmoneybb), [esthie](https://twitter.com/haikyuuharlot), [emma](https://twitter.com/softforsamu), [nish](https://twitter.com/saaadgirrrl) and me!! we wish y'all a lovey dovey, extra horny, valentine's day <3

Atsumu is a good friend. 

He’s good about catching up with buds that he hasn’t talked to in a while — when Ginjima calls to tell him he’s in Osaka visiting his uncle in Nakazakicho and wants to link up, Atsumu sends him the location of his favorite ramen shop with a timestamp. 

When Aran messages him asking him what girls like to be gifted for their birthdays… well Atsumu actually doesn’t know. He’s single as fuck. But that doesn’t mean he can’t drop a Q&A in his Instagram Stories to gauge the public, since a lot of his followers are, in fact, _female_.

(Aran still hasn’t forgiven him for that one.)

He’s such a good friend that even his captain-slash-best friend asks him to be his best man at his wedding, just a month away. Atsumu considers that one a pretty fucking big deal and a nice stamp of approval on his friendship resume. (He will deny ever crying over that dinner with Meian and Romero.)

So when Atsumu notices Sakusa blushing as Osamu and Kita visit him at the MSBY Black Jackals Training Center on a crisp January evening to collect him for dinner, he knows what he has to do. 

He’s just filling up his water bottle in the hallway, hair wet and styled with fancy-smelling gel his Ma got him for Christmas, when he sees it: Sakusa in his big puffer, gym bag slung over his shoulder, exiting the locker room with his Sony headphones around his neck and a neon green beanie over his curls to protect his head from the winter chill because _“that’s how you get sick, idiot”._

Suddenly, he freezes. Mid-face mask ear loop tucking. 

The crazy part about it isn’t that Sakusa looks like a serial killer in the all black getup, or that the weirdo doesn’t care that the beanie makes him look like a bald highlighter with his hair tucked away like that — rather it’s the fact that it’s the _face mask ritual_ is what he freezes in the middle of. 

Samu and Kita enter through the double doors that lead to the back parking lot. They talk in low voices about the slushy rain outside, judging from the state of their jackets and muddiness of their waterproof boots (Kita) and soaked Crocs (Samu). 

Atsumu waves as soon as he sees them. Kita’s stern eyes meet his, and then widen just a fraction as he sees Sakusa. 

_What’s this?_

And because he’s a fucking hopeless piece of shit: 

_is this love at first sight?_

“Hey dumbass, ya ready?” his twin asks, voice echoing down the hall and taps on his phone. “Reservation’s fer seven-thirty!” 

“Just gimme a sec!” His water is almost full so he kicks his leg out to quickly nudge Sakusa’s thigh. “Ya doin’ anything tonight? Come out with us.” 

That breaks the spell. Sakusa finishes tucking the facemask behind his big ears and smooths his beanie down over them, mindful to pull out some of his curls like he’s trying to impress something. _Or someone,_ Atsumu thinks wryly. 

“I’m going home to eat a freezer meal and contemplate a life where I never met you.” 

“Damn,” Atsumu chuckles as he screws his cap. “That’s kinda sad, Omi-kun. Am I really on yer mind that much?” 

Sakusa scoffs. “You’re insufferable.” He hikes his bag higher onto his shoulder and because they’re friends (or whatever version of the concept exists in Sakusa’s head), he raises a hand in awkward farewell. “Well. Bye.” 

Atsumu is _such_ a good friend that he doesn’t even comment on the fact that Sakusa takes the long way around to where his car is parked in the back parking lot.

-  
  


Dinner with Kita and Samu is a monthly/every now and then kind of thing that started when the two of them started working in the same line of business. They started dealing with each other and going out to eat because they both love a good meal. Atsumu tags along because he likes _free_ meals. 

But since the fateful January day (Day Zero, he dubs it as in his head), Atsumu tries to get Kita around more often. He reasons it’s because he misses his old captain, but if he’s honest, it’s because he wants to see Sakusa looking like a fool again. 

And if he’s even more honest with himself, it’s because he wants two of his good friends to maybe — _just maybe_ — fall in love.

Of course it doesn’t work the way he likes. Kita is a busy guy with his own farm or some shit and Kiyoomi is stiffer than a statue made out of steel. Whenever Atsumu brings up Kita in casual conversation — which becomes increasingly more frequent as the days tick by and still no chance of a Sakusa and Kita interaction in sight — Sakusa gets a weird look in his eye, like he’s Bambi and Atsumu’s gunning for him.

“What are you doing this weekend? Wanna come with me to Amagasaki—” 

“No.”

“What about—”

“I’m busy.” 

“How ‘bout next weekend we go grab some pints with my old friends—” 

“And see you make a fool of yourself? Tempting. But pass.” 

The whole week plays out like that. Atsumu groans as he gets back to his studio apartment after practice on a Friday, with a fresh stack of mail (bills) under his arm, tossing them on his bed as he follows with un ungraceful flop. “Piece a shit,” he mutters to no one, but hopes Sakusa hears him anyway. He pulls out his phone to scroll through his Instagram mindlessly. 

Suddenly, a dusty lightbulb goes off in his brain and he shifts gears to his web browser to type in: 

_How to getwe your dense frends to date_

He quickly clicks on the correct spelling and browses for a little bit, shifting his position on his bed and mindful of his shoulders since they’re sore after this evening’s practice. He should be icing them or maybe even tending to the floor burn on his knee from extra practice with Inunaki but, well, he’s _busy._

The link of _How to be a Matchmaker_ grabs his attention first. It’s a whole article on how to set up single people. 

And Kita _is_ single right? Is Sakusa? They’re both too… well, _weird_ would be the wrong word for them, but if the shoe fits…?

It’s enough doubt to warrant two texts: **_hey u seein anyone rn_** and **_do u kno if kita-san is single?_**

Aran immediately texts back, **_IDK. Leave me alone_** and then **_Please don’t do anything stupid_** **.**

Sakusa leaves him on read. 

“Fuck ya too,” he retorts to the stale air of his apartment. 

He skims the rest of the article and throws his phone on the charger when it starts lagging at one percent. He lays on his back and stares at his popcorn ceiling as he listens to the muffled footsteps of his married neighbors scuffling across the floorboards as they make dinner. Their baby cries. 

It’s a Friday night. He’s single. He can go out, get the perfect amount of tipsy and loose-limbed to attract whoever’s dressed best; go back to a pretty face’s place to take sips of whatever drink is offered and suck dick or eat pussy until his mouth is dry and he’s biting down on his bad-tasting tongue just to get a little more lubrication— 

He turns on his side and accidentally flattens his pile of mail (bills) when a fancy envelope catches his eye. He picks it up gingerly to examine its elegant loopy calligraphic contents, even though he knows what it is, since he was a part of the process: Meian and Romero’s wedding invitation. 

The old, dusty light bulb sparks to life again. It’s like he just paid the electricity bill (not the real one, the figurative one) with how often the lights keep coming on in his mind. Like a big fancy spotlight shining down from the heavens. 

He grabs his phone to shoot off a single text: 

**_i’m supposed to bring a plus one to shugo-kun’s wedding. wanna come with?_ **  
  


  1. **Get Permission First**



  
  


“Ya don’t mind that I brought Kita-san as my plus one, right?” 

They’re just settled in for the JR ride to Tokyo on the 1:45 Shinkansen when he turns to Sakusa, hoping to get a reaction for his genius idea. It’s perfect timing, since Kita went to go look for the WC. 

Unfortunately, Sakusa does not seem the slightest bit jealous, which is unfair. But Atsumu knows Sakusa enough now (six seasons _enough_ of knowing, perhaps _too much)_ to know that he’s just a giant baby under all those gangly limbs. And babies don’t like their toys being taken away from them. They are also emotionally constipated. 

“Why would I care.” 

Atsumu pops a stick of gum into his mouth and smacks on it loudly just to piss Sakusa off since he hates that kind of shit. “That’s something a jealous person would say,” he points out, and throws the gum wrapper at him. 

“Stop that,” Sakusa demands, catching it. He looks over his shoulder to see if Kita is around — a quick whip of his conditioned curls — before he chucks the wrapper back with _completely_ unnecessary force. It hits Atsumu’s cheek. 

“Ow.”

He smooths down his neon orange windbreaker like it’s a suit jacket. “I’m putting in my headphones,” he informs him, totally avoiding the topic. Like the baby he is. The only part of his person uncovered are his eyes, which roll dramatically before they look down at his phone screen, probably deciding on an emo rap album so he can think about Kita’s work gloves or something.

Those eyes flick up when Kita finally comes back with a gentle smile and bags of freshly roasted nutes in his pockets that he was gifted by a nice old lady because apparently they flock to him like moths to a flame. 

When Atsumu asks him a politer version of _what the fuck?_ Kita just shrugs. “She was looking for the bathroom.”

One even stops in the aisle to compliment his baby blue cardigan, before she makes it to her seat (which Kita offers to escort her to.) When he returns, he reaches into his pocket to hand one of the baggies to Atsumu and then looks at Sakusa with a knowing smile.

“I have one for ya, Sakusa-san. But I can clean it before I hand it to ya, if ya’d like,” Kita tells him. "I like to bring antibacterial wipes when I'm travelling on public transportation."

Atsumu knew that. But he didn’t even know that _Kita_ knew that much about Sakusa other before the sloppy introduction he made for them in the station before he bolted to go grab the jacket he accidentally dropped by the turnstiles. But a lot can go down in three minutes. 

Sakusa’s dark eyes widen and he shakes his head once. “Thank you for offering, Kita-san.” He takes Kita’s pre-offered nuts with a crinkle in the corners of his eyes. He’s smiling. 

But then he promptly drops his phone on the floor, scrambling to make room for Kita who nudges his way through to his seat by Atsumu. 

He smirks at Sakusa who, when Kita leans down to pick up his phone with a soft _“oh”_ , flips him the bird.

  
  


  1. **Arrange a date** ~~ **(or force them to stay in a hotel room together)**~~



  
  


This part is a total bitch to plan. Atsumu knows because he reserved a whole block of rooms at the Rtiz in Tokyo to be put on hold for the wedding guests — one of his only duties as best man to the groom. Vaguely, he tries to recall what other duties he was supposed to have (other than the bachelor party he does not remember, and frankly would not like to, judging by the small snippets he’s gleaned from Meian.)

He’s already memorized the layouts, which families needed doubles; singles for the couples like his friend Suna and his boyfriend Komori who want privacy. 

So, naturally, he makes a whole scene at the hotel check in counter. 

He braces himself on the sleek marble and looks in the front desk staff in her brown eyes, before glazing down quickly to read her name tag. “Emi-chan. Can I call ya Emi-chan? Emi-chan my friends—” he throws a thumb over his shoulder, “— are fallin’ for each other and need a lil’ push.” 

Emi blinks, with a startled smile on her face. “Emi-chan is fine…? Do… Ahem. Do you have a reservation number?” 

“I’m gonna be stayin’ with my brother. Miya Osamu. One-twenty-nine.” He discreetly hands her his ID and credit card to pay any additional fees and then starts shooting looks over his shoulders like he’s upset at the amount of guests around them or something before turning back to her with another smile. “This is my plan: I’m gonna tell them the hotel is overbooked so they gotta share his room meanwhile I gotta crash with my brother. But I’m gonna need to make a lil bit of a scene before you check them in for reservation 147 for Sakusa Kiyoomi. Double Room.” He leans back and runs a hand through his hair in mock-frustration.

“I’m confused,” Emi informs him. 

“It’s cos ya need ya to gesture around a little. Like yer annoyed with me. At this point in our hypothetical conversation, I’m tellin’ ya it’s rude to not warn me before these things happen. So I call ya a jerk or somethin’. Yer body language is all stiff.” 

“Okay…” She waves her arms around for a second, unsure before she drops them self-consciously and continues to finish his _actual_ check in. “I’m not sure that’s what people do when they’re frustrated, sir.” 

“Ya don’t have to call me sir, Atsumu is fine. Just pretend like I’m a mad customer.” 

“Then I would need to need to call security—” 

“There’s no need for that!” Atsumu shouts. And then leans over the counter to whisper: “that was great, doll.” 

She wrinkles her cute lil button nose. 

_“Hey,_ Emi-chan,” he whispers, dropping his voice down an octave. “Ya seein’ anyone?” 

Emi stands and yells, “Security!” 

“Damn yer good,” he mutters and pushes himself off the counter and over to his friends that are waiting in the lounge with the luggage. Sakusa and Kita don’t even bat an eye at his supposed stupidity, when he regales his fake story, which kind of irks him more than he’d like to admit. 

“Of course,” Sakusa huffs sarcastically and fiddles with his garment bag. “I’m—” he coughs once behind his face mask. “I’m fine with it, if you are, Kita-san.” 

“It sounds reasonable,” Kita reasons with a glimmer in his eye and turns his soul-searching eyes to Atsumu. “Are you sure you’ll be fine, Atsumu-kun?” 

“Pfftt.” Atsumu waves his concern away, mostly because it always makes him feel like an awkward teen again. “Samu’s here already with the catering team. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

  
  


— 

“I mind a _lot,_ asshole,” his brother says in the doorway of his hotel room, messing with the deadbolt and stepping out into the hallway with a murderous expression. The hallway is empty. _No witnesses._ “The fuck were ya thinkin’? Droppin’ yer reservation like that.”

Atsumu clears his throat. He could just tell Samu about his plan but the fucker would find a way to make fun of him for it and undermine his reasoning — even though he is doing all of this out of the kindness of his big heart. 

“Don’t be like that. I thought it would be fun! Just like ol’ times! I paid 4000 yen for a guest add-on to yer room. We could even—” 

“Samu?” a meek voice calls out. 

Yamguchi Tadashi — cute pinch server from Karasuno, current Sendai resident and Samu’s… _whatever the fuck they are_ — ducks his head out into the hallway and sees Atsumu. His freckled cheeks go pink immediately. “Oh hi, Miya-san—” 

“Don’t call ‘im that,” Samu says right as Atsumu grins, “just Atsumu is fine!” They glare at each other. 

_“Oh,”_ is all Yamaguchi says. 

Samu gets all soft when he turns to him and tells him, “I’ll be there in a sec.” And the sight is so sickening Atsumu legitimately sneezes. 

“Did he even pay 4000 yen?” he asks when Yamaguchi retreats, all doe-eyed. Atsumu wipes his snot on the back of his pants.

“Yer disgusting,” his twin tells him. “Ya can see I’m busy so just find someone else to cockblock.” 

Atsumu chuckles mirthlessly. “Sorry to interrupt the booty call—” 

“Ya fucker—” 

It’s just the right button, _and_ the wrong button to push. Atsumu’s aware that his brother has been seeing and not-seeing their former competitor since they had that match in Sendai against the Adlers and it’s been a clusterefuck for Samu who acts tough but is a lot like Sakusa — a constipated baby. Atsumu isn’t a miracle worker. He can only help one couple at a time. 

“Just tonight,” he promises. “I’ll find someone to crash with tomorrow but I gotta go to bed soon and wash my face so I don’t get a pimple for the photos tomorrow and because I gotta be up earl—” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Samu cuts him off roughly. He blows out a breath, then chuckles once, but it sounds pained. He brings up one finger in warning. “One night. Don’t be weird.” 

It’s weird, of course, Atsumu thinks as he settles into his futon on the floor (seriously, _fuck_ Samu) and tries to ignore the whispered conversation happening on the bed as he tucks in his earbuds in and adjusts his pimple patch. 

He wonders if he should’ve just cock-blocked Sakusa and Kita instead, judging by the rising sexual tension in _this_ hotel room.

  
  
  


  1. **Refrain from interfering**



  
  


The next morning Atsumu wakes up bright and early, with several kinks in his neck and an insane urge to go by a shiatsu neck massager from Daiso — the one his obaachan used a lot on her back for sciatica. He does, however, have way too much to do in preparation for the greenhouse ceremony, so his plans of perusing Tokyo for kitschy knick-knacks will have to be put on hold. There's work to be done before he starts his beauty ritual later, so he bids Samu and Yamaguchi a _wakey, wakey, lovebirds! Rise and shine!_ before slipping into the bathroom to change and heading out into the hallway. 

He raps his knuckles on Sakusa’s door three times. 

It takes an awkward amount of time before Sakusa opens the door, dressed in a robe and looking flustered, flushed like he’s just come from a run. _“What._ Do you know what _time_ it is?” 

Atsumu grins sheepishly and then peers over his shoulder into his room to see if he can see Kita. Unfortunately, Sakusa is taller than him and his current height doesn’t afford him a view of the beds. “Hey, where’s Kita-san?” 

“Out,” Sakusa tells him simply. After Atsumu waits for him to elaborate (he doesn’t), he kicks him in the shin. Sakusa looks two seconds from slamming the door in his face. Repeatedly. “He said something about the pool. I don’t know. Now leave me alone.” 

“Did ya two have fun last night?” Atsumu asks, a wiggle in his eyebrows. 

Sakusa crosses his arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Ya _know.”_ Atsumu wiggles his eyebrows again. The guy has the audacity to try slamming the door in his face.

“Wait!” Atsumu kicks his foot out, this time to stop the door. He forces his chest inside. “I gotta do a buncha stuff downstairs settin’ up for the ceremony and double-checking the suits. Do ya — do ya mind watchin’ over Kita-san for me?” 

Sakusa stares at him. 

“Show him a good time, is what I mean.” Atsumu coughs, because the innuendo is maybe a little _too_ on the nose. “Just keep him _entertained—“_

Sakusa raises a brow. 

Atsumu throws up his hands. “Just fuckin’ get brunch with him and the others. I dunno just do _stuff —_ fuck it I’m out.” He waves and turns on his heel, wishing them the best of luck in his mind. Part two of his plan is going smoothly so far. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” 

"That's a very short list, Miya!" Sakusa shoots back.

  
  
  


  1. **Make sure it’s a good match**



  
  


After several hours spent helping the wedding planner sort through last minute adjustments to the schedule, calling the band to confirm their payment and allotted time slot, and running around trying to find a Tide pen for Meian’s button up, he’s finally able to go back up to Samu’s room to get ready. 

He texts Sakusa. No response. Nothing new there.

After a long shower, he sits in his towel on the bed with his hair and sheet mask in place, scrolling through Instagram and trying to find a good selfie to post. As he finds a particularly good one of him back in the Uniqlo fitting rooms (great lighting), and starts typing out a cute emoji-filled caption, he starts to have doubts. 

What if Sakusa and Kita _aren’t_ a good match? Two people _that_ alike can’t be good for each other. With Kita’s penchant for doing things right, and Sakusa’s obsession with cleanliness, they’d be sure to drive each other up the wall. 

But they’re different too. He considers all the times he and Sakusa hang out together, mostly watching movies and going out to eat, and compares them to the outings he has with Kita. Their personalities might be outwardly alike, but on the inside they couldn’t be more different. 

Kita is nice, Sakusa isn’t. Atsumu laughs out loud.

His crisis over, he takes another shower and dons his custom made tux. The next twenty-five minutes are dedicated to doing his hair — an artful slicked back look that he only pulls out for the special occasions. 

— 

  
  


As he lounges in the groom's suite, thirty minutes before the ceremony is set to begin, he thinks about how great plans are. How Sakusa and Kita are probably on the road to falling in love like the stupid lovebird in front of him right now.

Surprisingly, Meian Shugo looks put together. So much for all the wedding tropes about cold feet and such; Atsumu’s never _seen_ two people more in love. The way that Romero looks at Meian when he comes to visit Osaka, or when they laugh together after games. It gives Atsumu hope. Or something. 

Atsumu ducks out after making sure Meian is good to go. He runs over to the other end of the all to check with Christiano, Romero’s younger brother, and see if the other groom is ready. Christiano is a cool dude, full of dopey smiles and laugh lines around his eyes. He even pretends to laugh at the joke Atsumu makes about making sure Romero doesn’t run away. Atsumu likes him. Rubens, Romero's son, on the other hand, doesn’t even crack a grin. This is why Atsumu doesn’t like children.

Everyone is seated in the conservatory gardens adjacent to the hotel as he, Christiano, and Rubens walk down the aisle in their sleek midnight blue tuxedos. There’s many familiar faces in the crowd — the wedding of two prolific V. League players nothing to scoff at — but his eyes zone in on Sakusa and Kita, the latter of which gives him a brilliant smile to brighten his nervous mood. Kita does that sometimes. Sakusa, on the other hand, looks like he wants to kill him, but their thighs are touching as he walks by their aisle so Atsumu considers it a win. 

Everyone stands as the soft music begins to play. The grooms enter together, hand in hand, like the world doesn't exist around them. Maybe it doesn’t. Atsumu has never been in love like that — to know what it feels like to have some sort of invisible axis spinning around another human being. 

It’s true what people say about weddings, how it just kind of makes the guests think of their own and Atsumu is no different. Underneath the bright glassy skylights, surrounded by the lush gardens of flowers — of which he can only dream of naming at the top of his head — Atsumu thinks. 

His position at the altar with the officiant and the groom's party, offers him a clear view of the crowd. As Meian speaks his truths through his vows of love and promise, sketched out during midnight izakaya drinking sessions together, Atsumu looks over to the aisle where his friends are all seated. 

Samu and Yamaguchi. Suna and Komori. Sakusa and Kita (if the fucker ever makes a move). 

Everyone in his world is paired off, and Atsumu’s standing at the altar on his own. 

  
  
  


  1. **Let things happen naturally** ~~ **Force Sakusa’s hand**~~



  
  


Atsumu shakes off the weird feelings through multiple group photos following up the ceremony and preceding the reception. 

While he talks (gestures) to Romero’s family in English, he makes eye contact with Sakusa from across the room. They’re at one of the standing tables talking with Suna and Komori before the other couple ducks away in search of the bar. 

If Sakusa doesn’t respond to any of his other attempts, perhaps maybe getting him more riled up is the way to go about pushing his hand. 

He saunters over to lay down the bait for his trap. 

“So,” he drawls as he gets closer and leans into Kita’s side. “Can I get my date something to drink?” 

Sakusa frowns. _Got ‘im._ “Where have you been?” 

“Busy,” he tells him with a stuck out tongue and turns back to Kita, leaning over the standing table. “How ‘bout it, darlin’?” And immediately curses himself for drinking a second vodka in the groom suite before the ceremony. _Darlin?!_

Kita doesn’t smile. Big shocker, but he _does_ lean back from Atsumu and into Sakusa’s space. He pointedly glances at his full glass of wine on the table. “I’m fine. Thank you Atsumu-kun.” 

He watches the way Sakusa’s fingers twitch with rapt attention, like the guy just wants to curl them around Kita’s cute shoulders and humble suit jacket. Time to switch tactics. 

He barks out a laugh that sounds awkward to his own ears. “Ha! Ya two almost look like a couple. Real cute.” He coughs once. “Well I’m gonna get myself a drink.” And immediately _scrams_. 

As soon as he approaches the bar, he lets his cheery facade drop. _God._ These two guys are _so_ dense. He orders a caipirinha then waves the bartender back over to make it two. 

“Those are really good,” a silky voice behind him remarks. 

He turns, and catches eyes with CA San Juan setter Oikawa Tooru. He could be more surprised, but he memorized and helped finalize the guest list. The actual surprise comes in the form of an accidental ogle as his eyes roam the other man’s figure, not so hidden away by the form-fitting olive suit he wears, making his honey brown eyes pop with warmth. The white button up underneath is sans tie, the first two buttons undone to offer Atsumu a clear view of a muscled chest. 

What did he say again?

“Oh yeah?” he asks. The drinks. Right. The bartender gives him a wink as he slides the two glasses over. He takes a sip. “Holy shit, that’s amazin’.” He hands the other one to Oikawa without thinking about it. “Here, have my extra.”

“Thanks,” he says and lifts his glass up. “Kanpai.” Their glasses _clink_ together. 

“So, Argentina-kun. How’s it feel to be back in Japan?” Atsumu asks, because they’ve come across each other enough times to know who the other is. He definitely doesn’t know the guy well enough, not like the others he met back during the HS Nationals circuit, and Oikawa moved abroad before he could encounter him in the V. League. 

It’s a shame. Because he’s a _damn_ good setter. Not like he’ll ever admit that to anyone else but his laptop, as he watches the FeVA games through a trusty VPN in the middle of the night. 

Oikawa shrugs, moving their conversation to the closest unoccupied table in order to move out of line. “It’s… okay. Not much has changed, but I’m not very familiar with Tokyo, so I wouldn't know.” 

Atsumu chuckles. “Me neither. But still. It’s gotta feel kinda nice comin’ home and speakin’ Japanese again.” 

Oikawa tilts his head. “Oh, is that what you’re speaking? Could’ve fooled me,” he taunts. 

“Alright, smart guy. I’m gonna say _adioso_ now.” 

The guy _giggles_. It’s such a legitimately cute sound that it causes Atsumu’s stomach acid to swirl around, confused and probably annoyed with all the alcohol he’s consuming. “It’s _adios_ ,” Oikawa corrects. And if the giggle was cute, then his sultry accent is _hot_. 

The realization makes his cheeks heat and his heart pound. The condensation of the glass he holds mixes with the sweat beginning to form on his palms, leaking out of him and threatening to spill over the table like the rest of his uneasy feelings. 

Atsumu veers the conversation back to volleyball, because it’s his safe space, where he finds solace. Talking about it soothes his erratic heartbeat into a rhythm that pounds with an itch to _play_. A different beast altogether. 

Oikawa meets his eyes throughout it all. It’s startling, since he’s not used to direct eye contact like that. He can’t help but feel a little flushed through the attention, silently preening at the way Oikawa glances every now and then at his biceps, especially as he gestures broadly to mimic a gorgeous back-handed toss made by Bruno in the 2016 Olympics. 

He loses track of time. Of Sakusa and Kita. Of where he’s at. Falling without landing. 

“Did you come here on your own?” Oikawa asks suddenly. 

“Oh.” Yeah, _big_ fucking _oh._ He glances over to Sakusa and Kita, engaged in quiet conversation with each other, their cheeks rosy and their smiles evident in their gaze. He looks back to Oikawa, and he’s got a funny look on his face, like he’s sad about something. Atsumu doesn’t like it. The vibrant conversation is enough to solidify a foundation for a friendship. 

And Atsumu is nothing, if not a good friend. 

“I’m gonna let you in on a secret,” he whispers and leans forward. “Y’see my OH over there — Sakusa Kiyoomi? Ya know ‘im?” Oikawa nods, frowning. “M’pretty sure he’s into my old captain. The shorter guy.” He leans back, proud. “They’re probably already in love. I invited Kita-san as my plus one to make Omi-kun jealous. I think it’s working.” 

Oikawa nods, still watching them. “It kind of looks like they’re already together, no?” 

Atsumu waves him off. “It’s cos the chemistry is off the charts.” 

They stare shamelessly at the couple, like they’re watching some sort of documentary. Kita grabs a napkin to clean the liquid rings off the top of the table. Sakusa watches, a little sparkle in his eyes. 

“Kind of boring,” Oikawa comments, turning to Atsumu and leaning on his cheek. 

Atsumu laughs. “I know, right?!” 

An easy comfortable silence blankets them, both unwilling to part, even as the crowd heads into the dining room for the three-course Brazilian meal. Atsumu wants to run a hand through his hair, but it took him too long to do, and he _knows_ it still looks good, so he doesn’t.

“What’s your LINE? We should meet up again,” Oikawa decides. “I like you and I think we should talk more.” His lip curls as he gives him a once-over. “I can even give you Spanish lessons. _Gratis.”_

“Oh.” Atsumu pulls out his phone to hand it to him. He shakily smiles, the first genuine one of the night. Oikawa smiles back.

_Big. Fucking. Oh._  
  
  


  1. **Set Aside Personal Feelings**



  
  


This is not part of the plan. 

In fact, the next full hour is not a part of any scenario Atsumu’s anxious mind could’ve ever come up with. 

He’s here with a mission: be a good friend, be the best Best Man. He’s pretty sure he’s nailing those two goals, so why does he feel so anxious? His eyes find Oikawa very easily, _too_ easily. It’s like his body is suddenly attuned to this new target: a familiar mop of brown hair tousled artfully and _naturally_. No one’s allowed to be that pretty.

As if his confusing feelings weren’t enough to deal with, Meian starts piling on top of it all when they have a second to catch up and talk. 

"Let me get this straight,” he begins. “So, ya brought Shinsuke-kun ta my wedding as a plus one, even though he had his own invitation, mind ya, but the whole night he's been glued to Sakusa-san's side. Meanwhile I just caught yer brother boning his little boy toy in the bathroom and I'm pretty sure he's bigger than ya by the way,” he informs him, an unwarranted and fucking _hurtful_ jab. "Ya always claim to be the more sauve of the two so what the hell's going on Tsumu? I thought ya got over Shinsuke-san ages ago?" 

_“My dick is plenty big!”_

He says it a tad too defensively, in something like a shout. He tries to shrink in on himself in shame. This kind of slander on his character in addition to all the shit he’s just gone through in the past two hours is downright _demeaning._ In _not_ a sexy way. As if he wasn’t already contemplating his lack of love life. Now Meian’s got to go and add insult to injury by insinuating it’s _his junk_ that’s the problem _?_

Even Romero grins, which makes Atsumu seriously contemplate punching someone. One of them. Both of them. They’ve totally talked about this before. That’s it. He’s gonna wear boxers in the locker room from now on. 

"Hey there is a child at this table. Keep it the fuck down,” Meian warns in his captain’s voice, which Atsumu is trained to respond to. Like a _dog._

Atsumu coughs and looks away, puffing out his cheeks. "Okay first of all, did _not_ need to fuckin’ know about Samu and Yamaguchi. Literally what the fuck, captain, why would ya ruin my dessert like that?” He turns to him. “Second of all _fuck ya._ I'm a grower not a shower. Third," he emphasizes and cranes his neck to see if anybody he knows is close by before whispering to Meian, "I am _over_ Kita-san, this is all just a part of my big plan. I'm playin' cupid for him and Omi-kun. And them sticking together means I'm doin' a good job, captain, duh." Atsumu shoots him a smirk. If anything, he’s proud of his plan because it’s working. Kita hasn’t left Sakusa’s side all evening, even if Atsumu feels a little bad for inviting him under the guise of it being his plus one.

"So what about yerself? I saw ya chattin' up Oikawa-san earlier, is that a thing now?" 

“Oh.”

That’s not as easy to answer. What about him? He’s focused right now. On being a good friend. On his career… 

He’s getting way too ahead of himself. He knows he's got a blush as he responds casually, “that? That was nothin’.” 

“Didn’t look like nothin’,” Meian comments and leans in to grasp his shoulder. He drops his voice down to a mere whisper. “Yer allowed to find love too, ya know.” 

Atsumu shrugs his hand off and straightens his jacket, pulse threatening to leap from his neck. There’s too much there to unpack there that he doesn’t even know where to start, where to even begin. 

He clears his throat before nodding his head at Romero’s brother as he takes the stage for his speech. “I think Chistiano’s gonna make his speech now. We should pay attention.” Clears his throat again, because there’s something stuck there and it’s hard to swallow around. He takes a swig of his caipirinha to wash it down.

Meian shoots him a meaningful look from the corner of his eye.

After Christiano’s speech is over, Atsumu steps onto the dais, rubbing his sweaty hands down his thighs as he surveys the crowd, trying to land on something calming and comforting. All he sees are couples and Oikawa. _Oikawa smiling at him._ Everything is like a trigger for his unsteady heart. His phone weighs heavy in his pocket, the new number stored away feeling like ten kilograms. Meian’s words _‘Yer allowed to find love too, ya know,’_ weighing much more than that. 

He picks up the mic and taps it once.

“Hi everyone,” he begins, pulling out the wrinkled page his speech is written on, and pointedly ignoring the shake in his voice. “My name is Miya Atsumu and it’s time for me to do the best man speech I scribbled down on a bar napkin twenty minutes ago.” 

The crowd laughs. Some of it is awkward, but most of it is in good nature. He looks over to the table where his friends are. Kita gives him a thumbs up.

His chest puffs with pride. “Nah, I’m just kidding. If I told ya how many hours I spent practicing that line in the mirror, ya’d laugh at me. And probably ask if I was doing okay.” He hears Meian laugh at that one, so he turns to him. “Like I told ya, Shugo-kun, ya only have yerself to blame fer makin’ me yer best man.” He takes a breath, already hearing Meian’s retort in his head. “And _no_ I did not sob like a baby when ya two asked me to be yer best man.” That gets more laughter, he turns back to the crowd. “Don’t believe this guy. He’s a total clown.

“But he’s also like the big brother I never had. Someone I looked up to back in high school, who helped me become the athlete I am today. No one shows more drive than him. Except, maybe, Nicolas. Which is why I think this couple—” 

A hand jerks him back, blatantly grabbing the mic from his grasp. 

“Dude, what the _fuck_ are you doin’?” Atsumu whispers-shouts.

“Just give me a minute,” Iwaizumi begs of him. “I just need a minute.” 

It’s so uncharacteristic of the JNT athletic trainer he sees on a bi-monthly basis for checkups and practices. The Iwaizumi who helps him through rotator cuff exercises is _not_ the guy in front of him right now, his eyes looking ravenous and his body language poised for a fight. 

He’s so stunned that he tunes out most of what he even says, his heart hammering too loud in his ears to actually pick anything up from the drunken ramble about the couples in the room. 

That is, until: 

“And I know weddings can be a drag sometimes. All the prep and renting and making your way out here.” He takes a deep breath, like he’s panting through a 5k. “But you won’t have to worry about me. Because I’m not getting married. It isn’t for me. It’s not in the cards. 

“Because I’ll never get to marry Oikawa.”

He leaves the mic on the table next to him. 

Atsumu stares at the mic for too long, like _way_ too long, before he picks it up again, nervous and feeling like he’s been frayed alive, exposed for everyone to see. Which is stupid, because it’s not even _about_ him. Iwaizumi’s drunken blunder is on _him._

And yet. 

_Because I’ll never get to marry Oikawa,_ bounces across the walls of his rattled mind, looping on repeat. He feels like he already lost a game he wasn’t even aware he’d been playing. 

He doesn’t even know what he tells people, just that he awkwardly laughs to himself _and only himself_ , one second, and the next is getting pulled to the side as yet _another_ person takes the mic from him. But this time it’s Sakusa who shoots him a worried glance before saying into the mic, “Hi everyone, my name is Sakusa Kiyoomi and I have no speech prepared, so please give it up for the happy couple.” 

Everyone awkwardly chuckles and starts clapping. Sakusa drags him by the arm back to their table where he collapses against the chair, feeling like he’s got nothing left in him. 

“Are ya okay, Atsumu-kun?” Kita asks, his gentle hands smoothing down the lapels of his tuxedo jacket. “Yer speech went real swell.” 

“Thanks, Kita-san,” he weakly replies in his slouch, but remembers himself as he sits forward. “Actually, I should be thankin’ ya, Omi-kun. Ya really saved me up there.” 

Kita leans back in his seat next to Atsumu and proudly pecks Sakusa once on the cheek before entwining their hands together on his lap. Sakusa looks relieved, if not a bit frazzled himself. “I hate public speaking," he huffs, but the brightest blush is splothed over his cheeks and neck. Atsumu feels a smile break out on his face. “Consider my debt repaid, Atsumu.” 

The sheer relief it is to know that at least _something_ is going to plan, almost overshadows Sakusa’s statement.

“Debt?” Atsumu asks with a confused frown, but everyone is already turning their heads to watch as the happy couple, completely unruffled by the turn of events, begin their first dance to a bossa nova number. 

  
  
  


  1. **Take a Step Back**



  
  


Mission accomplished right?

He got Sakusa and Kita together. In fact, as soon as the couples start breaking onto the dance floor, Kita grabs one of Sakusa’s hands to lead him to a less populated location so they can sway, locking eyes in pure affection. 

It should be an endearing sight, since he’d built his whole identity these past few weeks around being a good friend and a matchmaker to these not-so-oblivious idiots in love. 

So why does he still feel like shit?

He goes to the bar and orders a shot of vodka, chasing it with someone’s leftover Sapporo (never Asahi Super Dry). The vodka does the trick, and pretty soon, he’s feeling a little less like he’s got a too-large vibrator stuck up his bum and more like a vulnerable human being in search of a little ego-boost. 

He slips into a chair next to Suna at one of the empty tables (always on his phone, this one) and remarks proudly, “I did it.” 

Bored, Suna bites. “What did you do this time, Atsumu?” 

“Got Kita-san and Omi-kun together, that’s what.” He smacks his lips and leans back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his neck in a faux confident pose. “I’m goddamned _cupid_. They’ll be all lovey-dovey like ya and Komori-kun in no time.”

“Congratulations,” Suna drawls. And looks up from his phone for a moment to survey the scene and squints. “I mean it’s only been a month but we’ll see.” 

_A month?!_

Atsumu foot slips and his chair propels him backward onto his ass. Suna snaps a picture. 

“Hold the phone,” he grumbles when he gets back up, smoothing his hair down. “First off. _Delete that_. Second, what _did ya just say?”_

Suna frowns. “That they’ve been dating for a month? Weren’t you there?” 

_What the fuck?_ “Where?!”

Suna sighs and puts down his phone. “The bachelor party. I mean you were a _mess—_ ” 

Atsumu cuts him off with raised hands. “Not that part!” Fuck his hair, he thinks, as he scrubs his hands through the sticky, gelled strands. At this point, his whole weekend, hell his whole _month_ has gone down a drain like a dead goldfish. And right now, Atsumu feels a little like a fish out of water himself. “Oh my fucking _fuck_.” 

“I think you’re overreacting,” Suna observes callously, like the good friend he is. “Go get yourself a drink and relax. The night is… I dunno. Young? And so are you, so you shouldn’t sweat it.” 

“That’s shit advice, but thanks anyway.” And follows his shit advice.

This whole weekend is a disaster. So much for a plan. So much for being a good friend. Everyone can go fuck themselves, Atsumu thinks, but also ammends — because they’d all like that too much — everyone should just _leave him alone._

He sips on champagne, trying to stick to one alcohol for the rest of night, and since there’s an overabundance of the bubbly Romero likes by the bar, Atsumu posts up on a stool drinking it by gulps, watching couples around him laugh and jeer. Hell, he even watches his own _twin_ grab his fuck buddy by the hand to go make an honest man out of him. Well at least he hopes. 

He _hates_ couples. 

“You too?” A familiar voice asks. 

Atsumu sighs and drops his face onto the bar like the drama queen he actually is. Champagne does that to him, and frankly, his emotional brain is too heavy for his neck to support at this point. “My whole life is a lie.” 

“Tell me about it,” Oikawa mutters as he pulls up a stool next to Atsumu and unbuttons his jacket. “I just found out my best friend is in love with me and I had no clue.” He coughs awkwardly. “Sorry about that by the way.” 

Atsumu waves him off. It’s water under the bridge at this point. An earthquake could happen and Atsumu would calmly wait for the chaos to be over, still sipping his champagne. _That’s_ how fried his nerves are. “‘S fine.” And adds, because he can admit he _does_ kinda like Oikawa, but knows when to throw in the towel: “sorry ‘bout your best friend. I hope things work out between you two.” The words churn uncomfortably in his chest.

Oikawa hums and taps a perfect nail against the lacquered wood. “I think I just saw him go off with someone from the band.”

 _Oh._ “Wanna talk about it?” 

He laughs brightly, a sharp and ironic burst of breath inhaled and exhaled like he’s already made up his mind. Atsumu lifts up his head from the table. “Do you wanna talk about why you’re moping instead of dancing like a hot best man like yourself should?”

He touches his cheek. _Hot_. “Me?”

“No, the other guy. The brother.”

It causes him to snort unattractively, but he can’t help the grins that breaks out on his face and the laughter that follows. 

“So what do we do now?” 

It’s more a general question voiced out loud to the universe — painted with broad strokes to convey the loss of control he feels right now. What does Oikawa do? What can Atsumu do? And if there’s a we— 

“Do you want me to be honest?” Oikawa asks back, in a tone he hasn't heard before.

Atsumu nods.

He looks straight into Atsumu’s eyes as he says, “I want you to fuck me.” His hand finds Atsumu’s thigh, confidently gripping the flesh there with enough intent for his spine to tingle pleasantly in anticipation. He gulps. Oikawa’s eyes follow the movement, and he licks his lips around a flirty smile. “And then if we’re still eye fucking each other and pretending like there isn’t something between us, I’d love to fuck _you._ ” 

  
  
  


  1. **Let love happen**



  
  


They kiss their way through the elevator ride up to Oikawa’s room, giving security a show as they start unbuttoning their jackets down the hallway and knocking into walls as they pause on their quest to get lost in each other's mouths. Somewhere between room 2119 and the ice machine, they lose track of time, tongue fucking each other’s mouths and dry humping in the alcove of a stranger's door. Heating up in all their layers, drunk excitement fueling exhibitionist desires. 

“O-Oikawa,” he slurs when feather-light fingers tease the hair he forgot to wax, just peeking above his trousers. Atsumu’s hands pull on the meat of his ass, dragging Oikawa’s hard-on against his thigh.

Oikawa moans, _“Tooru_. Call me Tooru.” 

“Tooru,” Atsumu murmurs against his neck, before he sucks a mark into the fragrant, milky skin there. A version of his name inscribed against an erratic pulse.

“ _Atsumu,”_ Tooru moans back. And doesn’t stop moaning until they stumble into his hotel room, stripping out of their clothes, not even taking a second to fully admire each other’s physiques before Atsumu is pinning Tooru to the bed with his body, trying to kick off his socks. 

He comes up for air as they start to get carried away rutting against each other. “Lube?”

Tooru doesn’t even have to go anywhere, he pulls his little bottle out from behind his pillow with a knowing smirk. 

Atsumu laughs. “Ya just _knew_ ya were gonna get lucky huh.” 

Tooru flips their positions easily. A little too easily, like he was just letting Atsumu manhandle him. The thought is definitely sexier than Atsumu thinks it should be, mind expanding at the several fantasies it causes. Tooru trails a hand down Atsumu’s short, happy trail, “I even waxed, unlike some people—” 

Atsumu _chokes_. “I usually _do—”_

“I can tell,” Tooru cuts him off with a murmur and leans down to drop open-mouthed kisses above his navel, travelling lower at a glacial pace. Atsumu’s hips stutter in suspense for what’s to come next. 

But then Tooru pushes him back against the pillows with a steady on his chest, straddling his lap. “Just sit back and enjoy the show. Play with yourself while I get ready. It’ll be hot,” he pushes down on the cap of the lube, depositing a generous amount onto his hand. Atsumu watches him like it’s the best goddamned television he’s seen in his life. “Plus,” he adds with a wink, “I like the attention.”

Is it possible to fall in love in just one night?

He strokes himself to full hardness just looking up at the _face_ above him — the rose filled cheeks and the pearly teeth biting down on a luscious lower lip. His eyes travel lower, finally allowing himself to appreciate Tooru’s body without the need to jump him (kind of). His nipples, hardened and exposed to the cool of the room, the strong arms, flexing as his long setter fingers work into himself behind strong thighs. Undulating hips, following a dance that Atsumu already knows he’s going to love the music for. 

There’s a flushed, cut cock calling his name. He looks up to Tooru. “Can I touch ya?” 

Tooru nods sharply, slipping another finger in, gasping at the stretch. Atsumu has never wanted to kiss anyone more than now.

Atsumu knows from experience how much thoughts like that can be such a turn on and if Tooru likes the attention, then Atsumu wants to lavish him with it. So he keeps watching him as he leans up to grab some of the lube, teasing the skin of his inner thighs with cold fingers, feeling the weight of his balls in his hand, before he finally makes his way to his cock. _“_ Ya look look yer havin’ such a fun time. _God._ Wanna feel you so bad,” he babbles, licking his lips. “Wish I was fingerin’ ya like that. Gettin’ ya to make those pretty noises.”

He gives his long cock a cursory stroke, gauging the reaction, and then twists his wrist, just the way he likes to do it with his own dick in his hand— 

Tooru’s eyes go wide. “Ah _fuck—”_

 _Fuck._ “That’s right, baby. Slip another in.” 

Tooru does, decibels louder now. “K-Keep calling me baby.” 

“Ya like that, baby?” Atsumu smiles, thumbing the head of his member. A little drip of liquid dribbles out of him and the sight is such a turn on that Atsumu can’t help but peacock, flexing his abdominals to reach out and wetly kiss it. “I can tell ya like it.” Smacks his lips. “Ya taste great, baby.” 

Tooru scoffs jerking his head back to toss his moist bangs across his forehead. “Show off.” 

“Takes one ta’ know one.” 

They grin at each other. 

“Condom?” They both ask at the same time. 

And it’s just a short pause before they break out into laughter. They don’t stop giggling until Atsumu is stroking lube onto the latex and Tooru is slowly lowering himself down, pausing to let out his last chuckle before he fully bottoms out. _“Wow._ ” 

They fumble their rhythm and pause every now and then for brief makeout sessions. But It’s not long before Tooru’s rocking turns into bouncing which becomes _bucking_ , and pretty soon Atsumu is grunting his way through a release so powerful he almost knocks his head against the headboard, shivering through aftershocks but conscious enough to jerk Tooru off, just like he likes, until he’s painting Atsumu’s chest with thick ribbons. 

He cleans it up with two fingers, licking and sucking on them with an ambitious tongue, making a show of it. Eager to show Tooru more. He moans at the distinct flavor, and at Tooru’s warm eyes on his, with a mouth parted to accommodate an aroused inhale. 

“Ya taste fuckin’ amazin’,” Atsumu purrs. “Did ya have pineapple tonight? Kinda wanna blow you.” 

Tooru laughs. They both laugh, falling onto each other. Kissing until they’re ready to go again, or at least _Atsumu_ is. Which is _crazy._ He’s never gotten it up twice with this much alcohol in his system. 

So Tooru _blows_ him, all slurps and swallows and he comes in five minutes _flat_. “H-holy shit, yer good at that.” 

“I’ve been told,” would be a phrase that would deter a lesser man. Atsumu chases his own taste, hungry for the stories there — the secrets between lovers, in beds an ocean away. 

When it’s his turn, Tooru enters him with care, murmuring sweet nothings into his fucked up hair, licking his ear and panting hot breath into his ear drums. His hands grip _everywhere_. Atsumu feels like he’s being consumed. Atsumu doesn’t last under attention like that, coming into his hand with a shocked grunt.

Tooru thrusts into him quicker, his sweaty hands losing grip on Atsumu’s slippery calf and gasping like he’s close again. And Atsumu’s already gotten him off once so he recognizes his tell: scrunched up brows and ruby, bitten lips. He’s a setter. It’s his job.

“C’mon,” Atsumu taunts, reclining against the pillows as Tooru wheelbarrows him, his own load drying on his abs. It’s been a while since he’s been fucked but he knows what they have going is something incredible; he’s a fast shooter and a fast grower but Tooru’s stamina lasts for _much_ longer. It's such a hot combo, that he wants it to happen over and over again. But right now, he just wants to hear Tooru’s cute whine as he comes.

So he clenches down _hard_ , a ‘ _hurry the fuck up I’m sensitive’_ kind of clench that gets Tooru to let out a high-pitched _wail._

“ _Y-yeah,_ just like that, baby,” Atsumu goads. “Come inside me.” 

“I— I’m wearing a condom,” Tooru pants. “Ah, fuck you’re so _tight.”_

Atsumu knows just from their conversations that their kinship might be something special. Tooru said so. It’s a connection or maybe it’s just mutual dependability. He’s never met someone so different from him and yet _so fucking alike_.

His own thoughts, from earlier in the day, echo back into his brain, trying to gauge the compatibility between two people like Sakusa and Kita, who couldn’t contrast each other more, but functioned like a unit that was already built. Two different parts of the same machine. He feels stupid for not seeing that before. 

But then he remembers Tooru’s here, he’s seeing — _feeling_ it now. No one else matters.

Throwing a knowing smirk over his sweat-slick pecs, licking his finger and teasing a nipple with it, he tells Tooru something he would like to hear himself, “I’m not tight. Yer just _big.”_

And that’s what does it. Tooru throws his leg down and pistons his hips six more times before he’s coming so hard he chokes on a groan, and maybe some of Atsumu’s leftover cum from the blowjob. It’s such a cute sound that Atsumu revels in it. Feeling so good and making someone else feel just as good.

They collapse into each other, kissing away the semen and the bottles of champagne they ravaged the bar for before knocking their way across the hotel like pinballs. They kiss until they’re just flicking their tongues against each other, and Tooru grunts, pulling away. “Can’t get it up again after that. _Wow_.” 

Atsumu chuckles, suddenly nervous about what happens next. “Yeah. Wow.” 

Because what happens after sex like that? _Good luck in Argentina. I’ll see you in Paris, 2024!_ He’s grasping for tethers that are too far away for him to even reach, basically nonexistent. Just a memory from that one wedding they both attended.

So what happens next? There’s no plan for this. And even if there was, Atsumu would just fuck it up again.

His tall bed partner (fuck buddy? _Colleague with benefits? One night stand?)_ gets up to throw away the condom. Atsumu watches the corded muscles of his long body shift with each movement — his own limp showing from the thorough dicking down Atsumu just gave him earlier. “Want more bubbly?” he throws over his shoulder, a mischievous look in his eye. 

Atsumu shakes his head once, to clear the lust fog filling his brain again, another to avoid the weird emotions, and once more to refuse the offer. He leans over to the nightstand to grab his probably flat one. “I still got some. Thanks, though.” 

While Oikawa finishes unwrapping and uncorking his, Atsumu takes a long pull from the bottle. The bubbles have long since fizzled out since round two, but the expensive taste is still there. God he loves Shugo and Nicolas. It kind of even tastes like — 

And suddenly he remembers. 

_Feeling nervous. Four shots of tequila knocked together at the bar with Barnes looking at him like he’d grown another head. Or three. Probably five. One more shot for the road._

_Loosening his button up. “Let’s celebrate with chamPAgne!”_

_Hands trying to grab his shoulders as he gets onto the stage with the go-go dancers. Taking off his shirt completely. Dancers shooting worried looks at each other._

_Meian shouting something. Inunaki putting a fat wad of notes in his boxer briefs — where did his pants go?_

_Lights. Lots of them. Multi-colored mosaics flashing across the club ceiling. Worried faces above him. Two sets of hands pulling him up and touching his head. Did he just fall?_

_“W-wait Omi-kun. I don’t think ya’ve ya— would’ve met.” He leans against the wall and sways side to side. He holds onto a hand dryer. “This is [hic] Kita-san. Kita-san this is the biggest pain in my ass but he’s a sweet guy sometimes and probably my best friend.” Stomach gurgling. “Ya’d two would make [hic] a real cute couple. Yer both hot clean freaks.” Barf. Literal barf on his socks and the bathroom tiles. “M gonna puke again.” And does._

_A hand in his hair, the other on his back. Two faces, flushed. Not his own._

_“Ya owe me one, Omi-kun.” A victorious grin met by incredulity. He falls on his face._

“You’ve gotta be shittin’ me,” Atsumu remarks aloud, cheeks _hot_ with embarrassment and shame. Underneath it all, the same feeling of victory he felt in that club bathroom. 

Holy shit. He _is_ cupid.

The mattress dips as Tooru gets back into bed, mindful of the room between them. He freezes as he looks at Atsumu. “What is it? What’s that weird face for?” 

Atsumu grabs Tooru by the back of the neck and kisses him roughly, kisses him until there’s no breath left in his lungs. Until they start moving together again. Until the sun rises. Until their promises become real messages in his phone — but first.

He tugs on his lower lip as he pulls away. “‘M good. It’s nothing,” he responds, the stirrings of arousal encouraging something else altogether. 

He’s stupid, and he might be the worst Best Man, but at the end of the day, he still has a big heart beating in his chest and he’s been ignoring its wishes for so long. He _wants_ what Kita and Sakusa got. What Samu and Yamaguchi are finding out, what Suna and Komori decided for themselves. And— 

“I wanna see ya again. Maybe keep seein’ ya, if ya want. Cos I like ya too. And I don’t wanna pretend that it’s not nothin’ when it could be somethin’.”

— Oikawa meets him in the middle with his own victorious smile. “Okay. Yeah. _Yes_.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> what a ride! literally & figuratively! this was a super fun collab to be a part of. i hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> check out the other fics in the collection! there is also a twitter [moment](https://twitter.com/i/events/1360693898172104710) where you can find each of our fic promo tweets !!
> 
> Or, links to each fic here:  
> [RoMeian (nish)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29430087)  
> [IwaSemi (esthie)](link%20here)  
> [SunaKomo (glacier)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29398977)  
> [OsaYama (emma)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29432892)


End file.
